


Caught

by ElloMenoP



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloMenoP/pseuds/ElloMenoP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout’s caught red handed and Heavy thinks the best response is to give him a red ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught

Scout crept silently into the armory and sealed the door behind him. He glanced around the small room lined with lockers each filled with a team member’s individual weapons and needs, and was pleased that Heavy’s locker was not large enough to store Sasha in her full glory. Instead, the minigun sat on a sturdy wooden table in the middle of the room, this is where Heavy would sit and diligently tend to his weapon, polishing her and tending to her needs.

 

He walked over to the table and ran his fingers along Sasha’s smooth barrel feeling the cold polished steel, and a thrill of forbidden delight. He moved his hands down to her white underbelly where she’d be full of custom two-hundred dollar bullets. Then he grasped her two handles, a hand to each, and tried to pull her up but could hardly move the large weapon without causing damage to his muscles. No matter, he didn’t have to actually move Sasha to accomplish his goal. 

 

He wondered if filling her with sugar water would have the same effect as filling a gas tank of a car. Unsure, he inspected the barrels and thought about jamming them with something and watching the weapon backfire and explode in Heavy’s face. It would be hysterical, but then he’d have to wait until the next match for that to happen, and he’d probably be on the whole team’s shit list for that one. In the end, Scout decided a simple scratch to Sasha would be enough to send the Russian man wild.

 

Scout pulled out a ring of keys and picked his own room key to do the dirty work. He pressed the very tip of his key to one of the barrels and scrapped it along the weapon, causing an shrill metallic sound to fill his ears, like nails on a chalkboard. Scout’s mouth formed the same half smile it always did when he was committing an act of wrong doing or bragging about himself, and it spread into a full grin when he finished. He tossed his keys up cooly and caught them in the palm of his hand enjoying the little jingle they made after the earsplitting noise. What he didn’t hear were the Heavy’s footfalls down the hall getting louder and closer until they came to an end in the doorway of the armory.

 

“What are you doing?” The Heavy’s voice was gruff as usual, but not accusing. He stood in the doorway, his huge frame blocking the only exit with a puzzled expression that was slowly reforming into an angered one as he watched Scout struggle with the simple question.

 

Scout’s heart thumped fast within his chest and he felt his smile disappear instantly.  The runner stood between the Heavy and his dirty deed, preventing the Russian’s eyes from finding the truth on the table behind him. When Scout didn’t answer Heavy asked, “Why are you in here alone?”

 

Scout could feel Heavy’s eyes burning right through him, straight to Sasha, and he racked his brain for a viable excuse. “I’m just...checking on my.....” he eyed his own locker and blurted out, “Milk!”

 

Heavy frowned and crossed his arms clearly not accepting Scout’s tale. “Isn’t armory a bad place to store milk?”

 

“Yeah exactly!” Scout suddenly felt speck of hope. “Yeah, so you should probably get outta here. Right now. Before, you know, it really starts to stink.” 

 

The large man made a show of sniffing the air then said, “Does not smell like anything, even so I will move Sasha.” Heavy glared him knowing full well that Scout was lying. “She deserves better than _your filth_.” 

 

Heavy took two strong paces forward, forcing Scout to take two meek steps back. He put his hands up in front of him to try and stop the Heavy, and said, “Now hold up, pally what you’re not understanding here-” 

 

Heavy shoved the Scout aside to reveal the deep scratch on his beloved Sasha. He turned around quickly fists white-knuckled and teeth gritted, and faced the Scout who was standing with a guilty expression and sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

 

In the face of trouble Scout did what he always did, and what he was best at: he ran. Or at least he tried to. Heavy might be slow but his long reach gave him an advantage in the small room. He snatched the back of Scout’s collar, his fingers closing tightly around the cotton, and pulled the runner away from the door.

 

Heavy secured a meaty hand around Scout’s bicep to keep the boy from escaping. He was fed up, tired of Scout’s antics, lies, and overall bad behavior. He had been a nonstop terror since his arrival, being able to dish out all manners of criticisms and pranks but unable to take a joke himself. He often spent his time sullenly debating the other mercenaries about his status as ‘a big friggin’ deal’ and inventing new ways to harass the others. 

 

Enough was enough. Heavy could no longer stand idly by as Scout devoured his sandwiches, made mockery of his battle tactics, insulted him to his face, or _touch Sasha_. “You are not going any where, Scout. It is time that you met the face of music.”

 

“It’s ‘face the music’, dummy and-” Scout paused after his saw Heavy’s face tighten at being called ‘dummy.’ He bit his lip and cursed himself for never thinking before speaking. “I mean, uh...look I’m sorry I scratched ya gun but that’ll buff right out. I’ll even do it for you!”

 

With one hand still clamped around the Scout, Heavy turned to inspect the damage done to Sasha. The scratch was long and deep, it extended from the back handle, down the gun support, over the barrel clamp, and ended at the bullet trap. There would be no buffing it out, he’d have to replace the individual parts and that made him more pained than angry. “No. There is too much damage, you cannot fix this.”

 

Scout squirmed in Heavy’s grasp and whined out, “I’m sorry okay? But you’re such dick sometimes.” He said it as if it justified his misdeeds, a lifetime with older brothers left Scout with the impression that this alone was a valid reason for retribution. But judging by the look on Heavy’s face Scout guessed the man had no brothers.

 

The Heavy sighed and softly asked, “What am I to do with you?” This was question that Scout was asked often, since grade school and throughout his young adult life. He’s been asked by his mother, his teachers, the nuns, the principal, and various officers of the law but none of them ever answered their own question as Heavy did. “I think I know exactly what you need, a spanking.”

 

He pulled out the wooden chair that matched the sturdy table and sat down in it. It did not creak or groan under the Heavy’s massive weight not even when he pulled Scout across his lap. Scout knew exactly what was coming, he could already feel his cheeks clenching and the involuntary kick of his legs, he felt, most of all, his heart pounding through his ribcage.

 

He struggled as best his could with Heavy’s massive hand pinning both of his wrists to the small of his back while his other hand rested on his bottom waiting for the boy to accept his fate. Without the slightest chance of breaking free Scout resorted to bargaining. “C’mon man you can’t do this to me, I’ll fix it I promise!” 

 

Heavy ignored him. “I’ll pay for the damages! I’ll even throw in some extra for them custom bullets okay?” Scout wiggled in Heavy’s lap expecting to be let go but the man’s grasp only tightened. “Please I’m sorry, I won’t do it again I promise. I get it, I’m really sorry!”

 

“All of these words, they do not mean anything. You are not a man of words, we tell you ‘play as team’ or ‘do not be so loud and rude’ you say ‘yes’ but you are still loud and rude and no team player. No, you need example, you need action. I can be man of action.” Heavy straightened himself in the wooden chair, made sure of his grip on Scout, and took aim of the boy’s bottom.

 

The first slap didn’t hurt as much as Scout always expected. He still had his pants protecting his rear and knew from harsh experiences in the Catholic school system that this was a godsend. Still, Heavy’s hand was so large that it perfectly covered all of his ass, he might as well have a wooden paddle for a hand. The second smack still held no pain, the third did not make Scout cringe, but by the fifth there was a distinct sting developing in rear.

 

The sixth, seventh, and eighth slap all intensified that sting enough to make Scout grit his teeth. Nine through twelve began to hurt. At this point, the pain was constant enough to no longer be attached to a single blow, Scout could no longer distinguish if one of Heavy’s slaps was worse than the other, all he felt was a building pain in his rear. 

 

Heavy was good at spanking, too good in Scout’s opinion, his hand fell in a steady rhythm and with a hand as large as his he did not have to alternate between cheeks. He could smack all of Scout’s bottom with one hand and only occasionally changed his smack to hit the very tops of Scout’s thighs which made the runner gasp and his legs kick up. By the time Heavy reached his twentieth blow, it did not matter where his hand landed Scout would kick his legs and struggle to get out of the line of fire. His body would jerk forward or to the side, a single foot would shoot up in the air while the other would scrape along the rough floor searching for an outlet for the pain. His hands were twisting in Heavy’s grip trying everything to get free and shield his backside from the spanking. 

 

Despite his involuntary reactions, Scout was determined not to give Heavy what he wanted, there would be no way in hell that he’d cry out or beg. He remained tight lipped and stubborn through the stinging slaps of twenty through thirty. He could feel his backside glowing pink and building a painful heat, but he did not utter a single swear or plea. Heavy began a pattern of hitting his bottom straight on, then slapping the sensitive area where his butt met his thigh and still Scout persisted, though not easily.

 

He kicked and squirmed with full force, bucking wildly to dodge the spanks but Heavy’s grip was too hard to break, he could feel the threat of tears and his lip quivering. Then he breathed the loudest sigh of relief when Heavy suddenly stopped. The runner’s whole body relaxed. He hung his head, it almost touched the ground and he thought that if his hands were free they’d be resting on the ground, or better yet strangling the Heavy.

 

The reprieve Scout felt only lasted a second. Heavy’s spanking hand reached under Scout to his fly and zipper, if Scout wasn’t so alarmed he’d be shocked over how easily Heavy’s fingers undid his buttons and fly, though if he gave Sasha any form of admiration he’d have noticed all of the tiny nooks and crannies that Heavy’s fingers would have to work into in order to keep her operational. 

 

Scout could take a spanking over a clothed bottom any day, he used to get it bad from his Ma, the nuns, and that bitchy old neighbor lady that always smelt like bad tuna, but the second his bare bottom was exposed was the second he gave in. All his stubbornness melted away once he felt a stinging slap to naked backside, until he was nothing but a blubbering mess of apologies and regret. He’d beg and cry if Heavy would just stop here, call it off and let Scout lick his wounds in private. Hell, he’d fill his mouth full of bullets and let the Russian call him ‘Sasha’ if he’d just leave his pants where they were.

 

“Oaky, okay! Hold up a minute!” Scout fought against Heavy’s grip, tried to face the other man, kicking his legs and pleading. “I’m sorry all right? I get it I won’t touch your stuff, I’ll fix it I promise, I promise. Just don’t spank me anymore please!”

 

Heavy ignored him just as before and pushed Scout’s pants and underwear down his legs to his ankles. He didn’t give Scout one last chance to beg or a moment to brace himself, he brought his large hand down, back into the rhythm he developed earlier. This time Scout was loud, and Heavy almost regretted not shutting the armory door before he began, but then he thought if someone saw the Scout over his lap they’d probably offer a hand- or a wooden spoon.

 

“Ow fuck! You bastard!” Scout shrieked and jerked in Heavy’s lap as more blows descended down on his stinging ass. One strike after the other to his bare bottom made Scout’s head snap back, his body tense, and every swear word fall from his mouth. “Commie asshole! You fucker, stop! I said _stop_!” 

 

Heavy wasn’t sure what would be an indication to stop, what would signify Scout’s true penance but he was sure he’d know it when he saw it. He didn’t see it when Scout’s backside went from a deep pink to a bright red. It wasn’t present when Scout called him a ‘mick hating, fat bitch’ or when he immediately apologized saying ‘I take it back! I take it back!’ Scout’s insults faded into silence but Heavy still did not see what he was looking for.

 

He kept spanking, spanking well beyond his fiftieth smack, past sixty and seventy, spanking until he reached the eighty-second blow when Scout’s legs finally realized no amount of kicking would save him. He watched as Scout underwent some transformation from foulmouthed, stubborn brat to a remorseful and humiliated young man. He stopped all squirming his bottom only clenching when Heavy’s hand clapped down on it. His silence turned to sniffling and then outright crying, he hung his head, nearly touching the ground, and wailed with every slap.

 

Scout knew he’d end up here the moment Heavy pulled him over his lap and he was ashamed of himself. He was far too old to be spanked and far too old be whimpering and crying over it. He could feel the fire in backside and the tears and snot streaming down his face and all he could think of is what an idiot he’d been, how Heavy was right and how ashamed that made him feel. He shoved his sobbing face into Heavy’s thigh and prayed for the Earth to swallow him.

 

Heavy gently released the boys wrists and watched the hands fly to his backside to rub away the pain. Scout’s shoulders were still shaking as he cried but at least he was no longer wailing. Heavy fished out a rag from his pocket and shoved it under Scout’s nose for the boy to take, he sloppily mopped up the tears and snot from his face sniffling loudly and looking miserable. Heavy’s own hand throbbed with pain, though no where near as bad as Scout’s bottom, and he tenderly rubbed Scout’s back as encouragement for the boy to get out of his lap.

 

But Scout was having none of it, he seemed determined to bury his face in Heavy’s thigh and never face the light of day. The Russian rolled his eyes and picked Scout up, standing him up in front of him as he got out of the wooden chair. He took one look at Scout’s red face and watery eyes and felt he’d proven his point. “No more acting like child, da?”

 

“Yeah, no more. I won’t fuck with your stuff.” Scout would not look Heavy in the eye, instead choosing to stare at the ground sullenly. But then he mumbled something inaudible but insolent sounding and Heavy rounded on him.

 

“What was that?” He snarled and made to drag Scout back over his knee. 

 

The runner positively quailed and hurried to assure Heavy he had learned his lesson. “No, no, no! I didn’t say nothing, I swear.”

 

Heavy snorted and eased back. “I will make warning, you stop this or else I am forced to be man of action. I prefer words I am literary doctor but cross me again and next time I use belt. You want that?” Scout visibly paled and shook his head. “Good. Behave.”

 

Scout squeaked, “I will.” And Heavy left it at that. He examined Sasha once more and ran his finger along the scratch, he sighed and picked her up, moving to the exit hoping it would not take long for new parts to be delivered. When he reached the hall he said over his shoulder, “Scout, pick up pants.” And left.

 

The runner bent down, hissing at the pain in his backside and slowly drew his underwear and pants over his red bottom. He felt embarrassed and angry with himself. Angry at being caught, at not escaping, at being spanked, at crying. He righted his fly and wished the guns in the armory would gain sentience and shoot him on the spot, anything to escape his own shame.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title idea for this fic was ello-meno-p.tumblr.com but then I thought that would probably confuse people with my tumblr, ello-meno-p.tumblr.com. And wouldn't that be weird a fic entitled, ello-meno-p.tumblr.com, on a blog entitled, ello-meno-p.tumblr.com. Very weird. Very confusing.
> 
> Hey follow me on tumblr! ello-meno-p.tumblr.com
> 
> P.S. Scout's such a baby


End file.
